


king of kings

by sovereignelk



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Character Death, Dream Team SMP Spoilers, L'Manberg War of Independence on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP Spoilers (Video Blogging RPF), Pre-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Floris | Fundy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27727920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sovereignelk/pseuds/sovereignelk
Summary: the guards pushed open the door to the main chamber, the long oak table decorated with lit candles and wreaths. at each seat was a stack of paper and a quill, the inkwells set in a row for two people to share. as soon as the guards spread out across the room, eret was quick to move away from the l'manbergians, sitting himself down at the head of the table. it was the largest chair, a wooden throne made from the finest mango wood. wilbur and fundy sat at the other side, wilbur at the foot with the dutchman's chair scooted close. the president stared at the king over folded hands, eyes inquisitive. fundy barely looked at him, playing with the frayed ends of the parchment laid out in front of him.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 17





	king of kings

**ERET RUBBED HIS CLAMMY** hands together, a futile attempt at calming his haywire nerves. his heart pounded against the confines of his ribcage, and he was sure the guards swarmed around him could hear it. the woolen soles of his expertly crafted leather boots seemed stiff, as if he was walking on a bed of rocks.

"my lord," a guard to eret's left looked up at him timidly through her steel casque.

"yes?" eret tried his best to keep his usual calm, clever appearance, but his shakey voice betrayed him.

the young guard gulped. "your crown," she murmured, hesitantly extending a slender, gloved finger up to point at eret's unruly bed of thick hair. "my lord, your crown is crooked." she was rushed, as if forcing the words past unwilling lips.

eret placed a large hand over where his gold crown rest on his head, many rings clinking against the metal. sure enough, it sat askew. he murmured gratitude to her, fixing the crown to sit perfectly (which was far more difficult with shakey hands).

he quickly smoothed the wrinkles in his crisp cotton button-down and fixed the cuffs on his sleeves, trying his best to busy himself. _since when was this hall so long?_ he thought, letting out a wobbly breath. he was ready to get this over with, but the time seemed to move far too slow just to mock him. 

the guards' armor clanged as they finally turned the corner, stepping from darkly stained maple floors to velvet red carpet. a tall oak door stared eret down, intricately designed wood intimidating him to no end. the large gold handles glittered in the harsh orange light of the torches mounted high on the cold stone walls. 

eret looked anywhere else but the door, eyes trained on the torch furthest from himself. a glob of ash fell of the burning end, plummeting to the ground and bursting into grey dust. it felt like an omen, a bad one, at that. eret gulped, staring at the pile of ash as he passed.

before he knew it, the doors were being pushed open, the pale light of the overcast sky momentarily blinding him. the air was cold, filling his lungs so fast each breath felt like a stab from within him. his lungs already felt as if they had been clamped off halfway, and now he was sure he was going to suffocate to death.

"king eret of essempí," one of the guards introduced, stepping off to the side in a low bow.

eret didn't dare look up from where he stared at the gravel below his feet. he felt eyes boring into his soul, picking apart each aspect of his inner self and judging it. his heart began to ache as his mind began to grasp the fact that this was actually happening. this wasn't a dream (more of a nightmare, really) -- this was his reality.

"president wilbur soot of l'manberg," a familiar voice introduced, followed by shuffling feet on uneven gravel. "second-in-command fundy soot of l'manberg." 

_fundy soot_. that name made eret's heart fall into his stomach. he felt lightheaded, his stomach churning as the ugly snake made of guilt and pain coiled inside of him. his mind chanted the name as if it was a prayer, making it impossible to even form a setence coherent enough to greet his guests. he balled his hands into tight fists, his knuckles turning a pale yellow, a stark contrast from the tan he acquired from years of working under the sun -- years working to build a nation he would eventually lead hand-in-hand into destruction.

fundy was the last person eret saw before he turned his back on l'manberg once and for all. he watched george bring the dutchman to his knees, the blade of a netherite sword pressed dangerously to his pale neck that was now stained with crimson blood. his invisibility potion had worn off at the wrong time. the eye contact eret and fundy had in that split second was horrific, and it made the king's heart clench everytime he recalled it.

fundy was the first to break the tense silence, gripping the sides of his pale blue overcoat made from drapery. "how have you been, eret?" the name sounded bitter as he said it. "what have you been up to?"

eret bit his tongue, swallowing back a correction. he betrayed everything he had ever known for what he had today -- he killed some of his closest friends for everything he had. he wasn't going to let his efforts go ignored, no matter who he was facing.

"i've been well," he muttered, willing himself to speak louder. "i've been studying dutch to pass the time," he added, attempting small talk to try and ease some more of the tension.

fundy hummed, feigning interest. "what have you learned so far?" he sounded strained.

wilbur cleared his throat, eyes darting between the two men in front of him. the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife and serve it with a side of tea.

eret swallowed the lump growing in his throat. "basic greetings. you know, small talk kind of thing." 

the fox gave a tight smile. " _wonderful_." 

wilbur took a hesitant step forward. "we have a lot to clear up," he said, his intense british drawl slicing through the air. "we should head inside and begin the meeting, yeah?"

the king blinked a few times, clearing his throat and fixing his shirt yet again. "of course. come right this way." he turned, eyes still trained on the gravel. the guards were quick to flock the group, the l'manberg posse being forced to press closely to the king. who knew was out there, just waiting to put an arrow through one of their skulls. neither side could afford another casualty.

eret pulled at his collar as they walked. the hall was deadly silent, save for the clanging of armor and the click of the king's metal heel against the floor. the torches didn't seem to crackle anymore, and the usual bustle of staff seemed muted, like the whole castle was holding its breath. usually eret would run his hands along the walls to calm himself, but now he was so uncomfortably close to the two men that once trusted him with their lives, only to be viciously betrayed. in such close proximity, eret could feel the shoulder pads of their threadbare jackets brushing against the blades of his back, and he could smell the dirt they had been bathing in for the past few weeks as they continued to repair their land. there was also a faint scent of sweet berries, which he was certain was fundy; the dutchman always had loved his berries.

the floor switched from carpet to wood, and eret was suddenly hyperaware of how loud he walked, breathed, how hard his heart beat against his ribcage. he worried about the slightest thing -- even the smallest discrepancy could ruin this meeting, further burning all bridges he and the people of l'manberg ever had. he just knew they were picking apart every piece of him, trying to find ways to destroy him from the inside out. fundy would especially be doing that -- he held grudges, and he always made sure they were properly fortified: you could steal a sweet berry from him and suddenly you would be the most gruesome villain the world had ever seen. there was so much for the dutchman to hate, so much for him to use against the king. 

the guards pushed open the door to the main chamber, the long oak table decorated with lit candles and wreaths. at each seat was a stack of paper and a quill, the inkwells set in a row for two people to share. as soon as the guards spread out across the room, eret was quick to move away from the l'manbergians, sitting himself down at the head of the table. it was the largest chair, a wooden throne made from the finest mango wood. wilbur and fundy sat at the other side, wilbur at the foot with the dutchman's chair scooted close. the president stared at the king over folded hands, eyes inquisitive. fundy barely looked at him, playing with the frayed ends of the parchment laid out in front of him. 

"so," fundy was the first to speak yet again, leaning back against the back of his chair. "which one of your goons did it?"

" _fundy_ ," wilbur hissed, his brow furrowing even more. 

the dutchman barely spared him a glance, continuing without a second thought. "you know why we're here. you know exactly why, and you've been waiting for us to come." he suddenly slammed his hand on the table, his gaze sharp as his pupils minimized to slits. "i won't ask you again, eret. _who did it_?" 

"fundy!" wilbur scolded, dropping his hands onto the table. 

"playing nice doesn't always work, wilbur! i was hoping after the war you would realize that," he retaliated, his attention quickly trained back on the king. "now answer my fucking question!" 

eret blinked, gulped, and cleared his throat. "i don't know. i'm trying to weed them out, i can promise you that much -- "

the chair crashed against the floor, the table rattling and causing an inkwell to spill over. the ink pooled around fundy's hands, but his gaze remained unwavering, his stance oozing pure fury. wilbur stared at the dutchman's hands, watching as the sleeves of his suit were stained black.

"this isn't something you can treat like it's minuscule!" the dutchman shouted. he never yelled -- he was always the silent assassin. "he should be sitting in my chair right now conversing with you about business, but now we're trying to find out who blew up his fucking _grave_ , eret! stop treating this like a petty little back-and-forth! first my fucking fox's grave, and now my dead comrade! what's next, eret!? who's grave will you vandalize -- no, _destroy_ \-- next!?" 

eret was on his feet now, too. "what sapnap did to fungi's grave had _nothing_ to do with me," he hissed, trying to remain calm. "i don't know who touched tommy's grave, and i'm trying my hardest to find them, i promise -- "

wilbur's voice shot through the air like the crack of a whip, his tone much different now. he spoke slowly, but he was tense, his voice strained. "it was you, wasn't it?" 

the king froze. his jaw went slack and his ears began to ring. "i don't know what you're talking about. i would never do such a thing." 

the president didn't skip a beat, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "it was blind rage -- possibly even drunken. thinking of the war late at night, remembering your own sacrifices, how they were all in vain. you were disgusted with what you had done, the side you had taken. so you went for the one person who was the opposite of yourself -- the selfish versus the selfless. you knew he didn't stand a chance -- he's rotting six feet under, he's such easy prey." wilbur closed his eyes, gesturing for fundy to sit down. he complied, picking his chair up off the cold wooden floor.

eret's mouth had gone dry. 

"didn't you think tommy's sacrifice was enough?" fundy blinked back the tears that filled his doe eyes. "he died for our independence by the hand of the one you chose over us. he gave up what meant the very most to him in his dying moments." 

the king drew in a deep breath, leaning against the table for support. he felt as if he could collapse at any given moment, his head spinning like a top and his vision blurred. he could barely even put together the words to form a sentence, his mind a jumbled mess. there was no saving himself now.

"guards!" he croaked, the door bursting open almost immediately. two armored women appeared, brandishing heavy diamond axes. "one of you, give me your weapon." his voice was just barely above a whisper. 

with a pounding heart, the king wrapped a clammy hand around the handle of an axe. he gulped, staring at his pale reflection in the diamond for too many seconds too long. his heart wrestled with his mind in a vain attempt at stopping himself, but it was no use -- he was already set on what he wanted to.

he laid the axe on the table and slid it towards the pair across from him, the handle dipping into the spilled ink. "avenge him. avenge tommy and kill me right here, right now." 

" _eret_ . . . " fundy whispered, incling his head just a little.

wilbur gripped the edges of the table, his mind still trying to make sense of the king's words. the guards at the door were frozen solid, eyes wide under their casques and their hearts pounding in their chests. the king they trusted with their life was now asking for his own to be ended -- how were they supposed to take this? they had devoted their lives to him, and him only.

the president wrapped a large hand around the handle of the axe, pushing himself to stand on wobbly legs. "i will not give you the satisfaction of death. i want you to live everyday of the rest of your pathetic life thinking about what you did to us -- to _tommy_." 

the clang of the axe as it was thrown to the ground was deafening, but the silence that came after was so much worse. it was a one-sided staring contest, wilbur against eret. fundy stared at the ink that ripped with each bounce of his knee, eyes squinted as he sat pensively. he didn't even blink, so lost in his own mind he forgot.

"fundy," wilbur murmured, his chair making an ugly screech against the floorboards. he jerked his head, a gesture for the dutchman to follow him.

fundy hesitated for just a moment before standing, his knees threatening to give out beneath him. he cleared his throat and rubbed his ink-drenched hands on his dark blue pants, leaving black handprints across his thighs. he turned his head away, using the back of his hands to wipe his wet eyes. 

wilbur grinded his teeth together, glaring at the king out of the corner of his eye. his gaze was so icy it felt like an icicle driven right through eret's skull between his eyes. 

"let's go." wilbur fixed the cuffs of his sleeves, turning his body away in disdain. "i'm afraid we've overstayed our welcome."

the guards pulled the heavy doors open, and wilbur didn't waste a second in leaving. fundy, however, lingered behind, staring down at his scuffed boots, his hands balled into fists. 

the sadness on his face morphed to anger, his jaw clenching tightly. "rot in hell," he hissed through barred teeth, his head snapping up. "rot in hell!" he kicked the leg of the table in callous anger, picking up another glass inkwell and throwing it to the ground, the black ink splashing up to splatter across his pale face and all up the front of his uniform. 

there was a moment of silence. fundy hated it. he lifted his heavy boot, stomping the glass shards into the wood floor relentlessly. eret flinched every time the boot made contact with the floor, staring at the axe that rattled on the wood.

the dutchman eventually stopped, staring at the remains for only a second before turning on his heel and leaving without a further word, inky footprints left behind him. the room was far too empty now, far too cold. 

the king fell to his knees, the tattered remains of his ego laying shot dead on the floor in front of him. his soul cried out to whatever god was left, pleading for relief from the guilt of what he had done heavy on his heart. he tried not to cry -- he really did -- but how could he not?


End file.
